Let The Snow Cry
by Alastair Belfour
Summary: Now a grown man, Kit Myrtle is the lead singer of a street band. The band love him like a son but never support him with his decisions to love, Kit, who is terrible when the matter of romance and love comes up, has never had anyone for himself. Then he finds the warmth of Count Dracula, who met him twenty years ago. Will their love bloom, or will it be left to cry with the snow?


Flashback

_I walk out of the deep forest and flick my fringe out of my face. Christ, a boy, no more than six, sitting alone on a log wearing nothing but an XXXL shirt and a sign._

_'For Sale'_

_I look around and see that the boy is truly by himself. He's playing with a rock and throwing it as far as he can into a tree, his face bruised and his skin torn and bleeding. He's humming a song. If I recall well, the song is called 'Another Day In Paradise'. As a rock falls at my feet, the boy looks up at my face and smiles._

_"Hello Mister!" He beams. "May I please have my rock back? The one at your feet?" He points to the rock and I slowly bend over and pick it up. Walking over to him I carefully drop the rock in his hands. "Wow Mister! You're very tall! And you have such a pretty coat!" He grins. "Will you play with me Mister? I'm very lonely here, Mother said that if I stay here and be a good boy, she'll buy me some candy!" After a few moments I nod and smile at him._

_"What would you like to play, child?" I stand up onto the log and so does he._

_"What would Mister like to play?" He jumps up and down._

_"Wha-"_

_"I'm trying to be taller than Mister!" He screams and jumps higher. I chuckle, step off the log and crouch on my knees in front of him. The boy jumps higher, but still isn't tall enough. He stops jumping and pouts. "Mister is too tall," he crosses his arms over his chest and his long, dark bangs fall over his face._

_"Try one more time," I grin and he looks at me._

_"Okay!" He beams. He crouches low, "This'll be my best jump yet!" then as his feet leave the log I swiftly grab his waist and hold him up in the air. He rewards me with a high pitched squeal and giggles until his face is bright red. I blush a little and softly gasp at a feeling deep in my stomach, like fire, but much more pleasant. I place the boy onto my shoulder and carry him around the log, I jump a little and am again rewarded with more giggles. He wraps his legs around my neck and lightly tugs at my hair, which causes me to blush even more. "Mister? May I please try on your glasses?" He says in my ear._

_"Sure," I take my sunglasses off and pass them to him, his fingers brush against mine and shiver a little at how cold mine are. He pulls my sunglasses out of my hand and carefully places them over his eyes._

_"Wow," he whispers and places his hands in front of him, swaying them around like a mad thing. I chuckle a little and the boy giggles._

_What is wrong with me? What is this feeling? The boy rests his head on the top of mine and sniffs my hair. He nuzzles at my shoulder and the weight of his head relaxes onto mine. I feel my face heat even more. As I slowly lift the boy up, I see he's wearing absolutely nothing but the shirt and the sign. I carefully sit and lean my back against the log and place the boy in my lap. He slowly opens his eyes and looks up at me._

_"Mister is very beautiful, even when I'm wearing his glasses," he grins and tells me to place my head lower and close my eyes, so I do as I am told secretly hoping the boy will kiss me. Jesus Christ, what is going on with me, he's just a boy, why do I feel like this all of a sudden? I shake my head a little and softly growl at myself._

_I feel the rim of my glasses being softly placed onto my nose and the frames being shoved into my ears, then under and finally into the right place. I chuckle a little to feel the boy's determination trying to place the teashades back onto my face. The boy places his hands at the side of my head and shakes me a little, "You can wake up now, Mister!" He laughs and I open my eyes. I am greeted with the boy's lopsided grin._

_I think I want this boy. I think I want him all to myself. I stare deep into the boys' caramel eyes and he stares back into mine. I blink and the boy's face lightens. "I win!" He squeals._

_"What did you win?" I ask, puzzled._

_"The Don't-Blink-Contest! You blinked!"_

_"Oh! Well I bet I can beat you at jumping!" I grin and the boy looks at me, his eyes widening. "What is it?" I ask, my grin fading._

_"Mister's teeth," he points to my face and pokes his fingers at my mouth and slowly pulls my lips apart, he touches my fangs and as he does, a tiny cut opens on the pad of his finger. The blood drips onto my tongue and my eyes protrude a crimson coloured luster. The sweet, sweet blood lolls further into my mouth and down my throat. That was the best blood I had tasted in a while. The boy stares at me and makes a sour face._

_"That must have tasted gross Mister," he pokes his tongue out. He presses his fingers further into my mouth and wipes the inside trying to clean away the taste, only rewarding me with more of his blood. I softly grab his wrist and hold his fingers in my mouth I wrap my tongue around the bleeding finger and lick it clean, holding the boy's gaze for the whole time, I see the boy's cheeks begin to redden as I pull his fingers out of my mouth. The boy stares into my eyes and smiles, "Mister must be very hungry," he giggles._

_"Yeah," I breathe, trying to find my voice from tasting this rich, sweet blood._

_"I'm healed!" He screams and shows me his finger. I grin and kiss his fingers, causing the little boy in front of me to blush even harder. He turns around so his back is resting against my stomach and pulls my coat over him. "I'm cold," he whispers and covers his whole body with the red cloak. I wrap my arms around his skinny, defencless body tightly - but not too tightly - and kiss his forehead._

_"What's your name my child?" I whisper._

_"Kit Myrtle," he whispers back. I repeat the name, testing it out on my tongue._

_"What a beautiful name," I smile._

_"What about Mister?"_

_"My name is Alucard,"_

_"Arucah, Mister Arucah," he giggles._

_"Alucard," I repeat._

_"Arucah,"_

_"Alucard,"_

_"Arucah,"_

_"Alucard,"_

_"Arucah,"_

_"Alucard,"_

_"A-Alucard. Alucard!" He screams, giving in. I crack up laughing and so does Kit. A borrowed phone starts to ring and I pick it up, Kit eyeing it like it's a monster._

_"Yes Master," I nod and listen to Integra on the other side of the line. "Yes Master," I repeat and flick the phone closed._

_"Who was that?" Kit asks._

_"No one," I lie and pick Kit up placing him next to me. I stand up and take off my coat giving it to him. "Stay warm for me, okay?" I ask, well more order than ask and Kit nods enthusiastically. I turn and begin to walk away but a soft tug on the bottom of my dress pants keeps me from leaving._

_"Will I see Mister Alucard again?" He whimpers, and I softly nod. The boy looks away for a second and looks back at me, a determined look on his face. "My father told me to ask this to people who give an 'interest' to me," he clears his throat, "What is your starting bid?" Kit looks up at me, tears fogging up his eyes. I crouch down in front of him and scruff up his hair, then place my hand to his cheek, he rests his head into my cotton-covered palm._

_"All the money in the world," I smile and walk off._

End Flashback

_20 Years Later_

Alucard places the chess piece to his lips.

"All the money in the world," he whispers to the glass king and softly place him on E7. Alucard looks up at the empty chair in front of him. "Your move," he says, directing his gaze to the chess board. To nobody's surprise, the peices don't move an inch and he sits there for hours on end, waiting for somebody to pick up a peice, and to win.

_The City of London_

Kit finishes his song and with a low breath looks down to his hat, seeing it almost empty, filled with only a couple of pence and a pound.

"Shit," he sighs, "Alright ladies! We're packing up!" Kit turns to look over his shoulder at all of the men behind him. Sebastian on cello, Abraham on guitar, Laurence on saxophone, Percival on keyboard, Byron on flute, Christopher on drums and Byron on violin.

"Sorry men," Kit begins, "I think we're going to have to borrow some more money off of Christopher's girlfriend for dinner tonight," he laughs, as Abraham packs up his guitar and sits on his case.

"This is the third time this week," he groans and puts his hands up in front of his face showing all of them his bloody and bruised palms, "My hands are gonna fuckin' fall off at this state," Abraham scratches his cheek and leaves behind a trail of blood.

"You look like a fucking war field," Byron hisses, "We all do! I mean, look at Kit! The bitch has been starving the shit out of himself! When was the last time you ate boy?" He shoots at Kit, who throws a glare at the older violinist.

"You're only twenty-six years older than me Byron, calling me a boy, you ass!" Kit spits.

"You haven't answered my question, Kit," Byron sighs.

"Four days, I haven't eaten in four days," Kit breathes, his voice fading.

"Jesus Christ! The boy's gonna fuckin' die on us!" Percival shouts throwing his hands out. "Look at this! Complainin' about our state, look over a' Kit! Look at 'im! He's just skin an' bones the poor fuck!"

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm not the only bloody fuck here," Kit interrupts the fourty year old.

"Sorry, m'boy. Can't control the tongue, if ya know what I mean," Percival keeps talking, "If we continue like this, we're gonna have to move in with Christopher's grandmother of a girlfrien'!"

"Don't push it Percy," Christopher hisses.

"I agree," Sebastian pipes in, "We cannot go on living like this."

"It's because of my voice, isn't it?" Kit breathes huskily.

"Your voice is our best asset young Kit, you have the best voice I've heard. I'm sure the others agree," Sebastian smiles, crossing his legs and placing his palms on his knee. He looks over at the others and nods a little.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Percival shouts, slapping Kit on the back. "The boy's good. Real good!"

"Yep!" Charles chimes.

"Of coarse," Christopher chuckles.

"Absolyutno, absolument, hendert prozent, tu esti cel mai bun atu al nostru, de departe!" Laurence laughs, showing off his Russian, French, German and Romanian, for a man being born in London, knowing all of these languages is a big feat.

"English please Laurence," Sebastian sighs.

"Absolutely!" The saxophonist shouts pulling Kit into a long hug.

"Certes!" Byron grins, certes meaning certainly in Middle English. Abraham nods and lopsidedly grins.

"See Kit? We all love you like a son. You're the youngest here but you have the most talent. Look at me, a thirty-seven year old cellist, still playing the cello after twenty long years," Sebastian gestures his hand to the others. "Abraham, a bloody fifty year old grandpa who's hair is falling off faster than his pants!" Sebastian looks over to a confused Kit then sighs. "It means that Abraham's fat, you bloody bitch."

"Oh!" Kit laughs a little.

"Laurence," the cellist continues, "A man who has lived in - I beleive - every country in the world! And he's come to this dump to play the sax! Forty-three that one! Percival, fourty and still lives off of his keyboard. The man hasn't touched a proper grand piano since God knows when! Charles, a thirty year old flautist who lives off of us and our so called 'band'. Christopher, a thirty-five year old drummer who's forgotten which side of a drumstick is meant to be held!"

"Hey!" Christopher interrupts. Sebastian clears his throat and continues.

"Byron, a violinist who has seen over fifty-two long years and lived through all of them. And then there's you Kit. The twenty-six year old kid who has the looks of a charmer and a voice of an angel. Saying that we deserve you would be a lie my boy. Without you, we wouldn't even have those few pennies in that hat-"

"Hell, we wouldn' have a fuckin' hat to begin wi'," Percival chimes which causes a few of the men to chuckle.

"I can't beleive I'm saying this, but Percy's right. Without you, we would be nothing," Christopher sighs.

"Thanks you guys, I guess it's the same for you. Without you ladies, I wouldn't be here doing what I love," Kit laughs.

"Enough with the bloody heartwarming shit!" Percival groans.

"So, are we gonna go ge' us some ese or wha'?" Byron laughs.

"Yeah, let's go get some food ladies," Kit says, ruffling his dark hair through his fingers.

_The Hellsing Estate_

"Alucard!" The voice echoes through the hallways and right into the old vampire's ears, who groans and walks through all of the walls until he appears through his master's door.

"Yes Master?" Alucard smiles, the word 'master' dropping off his tongue like acid. "You wanted me."

"Ah, Alucard, there have been many reports of the deaths of many innocent people on the television, and you being the cause of them," Integra begins.

"And that isn't normal?" Alucard breathes.

"That's not what I mean," Integra sighs.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mea-"

"Could you speak up please?"

"I m-"

"I don't understand a word you are saying,"

"If you would just let me conti-"

"All I hear is 'Blah, blah, blah, politics, blah, blah, blah, queen, blah, blah, blah, church and blah,blah,blah, innocent lives'," Alucard groans.

"Alucard," Integra's voice begins to shake, "Stop eating innocent people. That's all I'm asking of you." Alucard stares at the woman like she's just declared that he was going to be sent back to the basement for another twenty years. "Alucard?" The woman asks after a few minutes of the staring.

"You can't ask that of me. That's like asking a baby to stop sucking tits! I mean... breastsssssssss," the vampire curses under his breath and smiles sweetly. "I didn't mean that."

"Alucard," Integra begins, "Stop talking."

"Okay," sighs Alucard. "That would be best."

"What I'm trying to say is, you're attracting unwanted attention to the Hellsing Estate. You need to stop or we'll be in more trouble than we are now," Integra takes a long drag from her cigar and blows out a lungful of thick, dark smoke.

"How much trouble are we in now-" Alucard asks. Integra places her finger up to her neck. "-Walter?" He grins. The butler looks at Sir Integra and places a gloved finger to his forehead. "And that's bad... right?"

"Yes sir," Walter says, taking quick glances at Integra.

"Oh. So you're saying we're up to here in trouble... like right now?" The vampire points to his neck.

"Yes sir. But that actually varies to what I was saying, for you are around... let's say half a head taller than me. So on you... we are about..." The butler walks over to Alucard and places his finger onto the vampire's chest. "... here in trouble."

"So, that's on me, right?"

"Yes sir,"

"But that actually means we're chest deep in trouble, which means we're fine."

"If you want to put it on you. But you're roughly seven feet tall, sir."

"So we're actually neck deep in trouble."

"On me, yes."

"But not on me."

"If you want to put it that way, then yes sir." Walter continues and Alucard ponders for a bit.

"So that means **you** guys are in neck deep trouble."

"Not r-"

"So that means **I** can chill, while you trouble-makers get to do all the hard work, right?"

"Bu-"

"Say yes, Walter. Just say yes," Integra breathes trying to contain the fact that she wants to kick Alucard were the sun don't shine and see if he 'heals' from that.

"So that means, you guys didn't have to call me in here, right?"

"Yes Alucard. Yes." Walter forces a smile.

"So that means I can go now, right?"

"Leave Alucard. Just leave." Integra groans and shoos the vampire off. The old vampire grins in victory. As the Count walks through the doors and back into his room he begins to wander how his boy is doing. How his life is. If he even is alive. No. Alucard would sense if Kit was dead. Or injured. He beleives that's what brought him to the little wounded, bloody boy.

Kit.

Kit Myrtle.

A smile opens up on Alucard's face as he rests his head on his hand and thinks about his little boy.

_Christopher's Girlfriend's Place_

"An' then he said 'Fuck 'er in the pussy!" Percival shouts, sarcastically throwing his head back in laughter. Kit cracks up laughing and wipes a tear from his eye.

"O!" Byron begins. "Kitty boy! Pass me some of that cake over yonder."

"That doesn't make any sense Byro my lad!" Kit chuckles reaching for the bread and throwing it over to the violinist.

"Gott! Ich eine blutige Kuh essen konnte!" Laurence laughs.

"English please Laurence," Sebastian sighs.

"God! I could eat a bloody cow!" The saxophonist grins and the boys all crack up in laughter and while they're all laughing Laurence reminds them that what he said was in German. Kit looks to his pocket watch and stands up.

"I'll see you ladies over at the church, bright and early! I told Father that we could perform at the orphanage!" Kit shouts over the bustle of the others.

"Yep Kitty my boy!" They all shout in unison and Kit leaves, a bag of food in his hand and a wide grin on his face. He looks to his pocket watch again. 10:30pm. He runs over to the church and knocks on the wide doors. Father is probably preying, but Kit doesn't care. After a few more moments of frantic knocking, the door swings open and out steps the preist.

"Ah. Kit my lad," Father laughs.

"Father Anderson," Kit smiles and passes the food to the preist and kisses his hand.

"Food for the orphans, I see," Father grins, his thick Scottish accent echoing behind him into the church. "And just call me Alaxander, Kit lad."

"Father Anderson suits me," Kit laughs and thanks Alaxander Anderson for the invitation to sing for the orphans.

Anderson is like Kit's father figure. Kit forgot everything that happened to him before the age of fifteen. When Anderson took him in as his son when the preist was at the age of twenty. Kit's parents had died, but Anderson said that his parents loved him more than anything in the world.

'Your parents were good people,' Anderson repeats all of the time. Whenever Kit would ask about the scars that covered his chest, back and thighs and if they were from his parents, Father would just say: 'Your parents loved you and they loved Jesus. That's all that matters my lad.'

"You're very welcome Kit," Alaxander smiles, hops out of the church and walks Kit back to his apartment.

"I'll see you tomorrow then Father," Kit smiles and the preist turns and walks away. Kit walks into his apartment and looks over at the red coat waiting for him, spread over the side of his couch. He quickly grabs it and curls himself up in it, sniffing up the warmth and the love. Father said that this red coat was his fathers', but Kit never beleived him. If Kit's father held this much warmth, wouldn't he have remembered him? Kit hugs the coat tighter around him and falls into a dreamless sleep.

_The Next Morning_

Kit wakes to the sound of tapping at his door. He wraps the long red coat around him and sniffs at it a little more, to make sure the warmth hasn't run out. He opens the door and is greeted with Sebastian's grim face.

"We can't play for the orphans today," he sighs, "Abraham cought a terrible flu and Charles's mother fell ill yesterday. We're gonna have to change the date."

"I'll go check on Abraham," Kit yawns.

"Don't. He's very poorly. You'll catch his fever one hundred percent. It would ruin your voice," the chellist says looking Kit in the eye. "And take off that ridiculous coat. It's five sizes too big for you. See, you're dragging it across the floor every time you walk." He points to the ground and Kit quickly picks up the bottom of the coat and cradles it in his arms.

"I'll see you in a couple of days then. If Abraham gets better before that then tell me." Kit yawns even more, a little glad he didn't have to perform this early. At least he can sleep in. Sebastian leaves with a curt nod. Kit looks over at the grandfather clock that is much too big for his two room apartment and it shows five o'clock in the morning. Why did Sebastian have to wake him this early? Kit walks back to the couch. He should tell Father. Kit walks out of his apartment, looks down at what he's wearing and walks back in. He places the coat back onto the couch and finds a black turtle-neck that Father gave him for his birthday, he throws some dark blue jeans on and finds a thick black coat. As he wraps the coat on and buttons it up, Kit grabs a green scarf and messily throws it around his neck under the fabric of the jumper, he shoves on some boots and rubs his eyes.

Kit yawns as he grabs his red umbrella and walks out. The snow softly falls down onto his cheeks and Kit smiles a little. He loves the snow. He loves how it melts at his touch. He loves how it can cry as it melts down his fingers. A little smile on his face, Kit strolls to the church. Oh yeah. Kit turns and walks farther to the orphanage. Anderson would be preparing the food for the kids. Softly, he hums a tune and knocks on the door of the orphanage. After a few minutes of standing in the cold, his fingers freezing to the umbrella's handle - which wouldn't have happened if he bought gloves - the door creaks open.

"Come in, lad. Quick, it's freezin' outside," a gruff voice becons Kit inside into the warmth of the hallway. "What brings you here lad? The performance ain't until later today." I look over at the old man and see that Anderson isn't around.

"About that, Father," Kit begins and tells the old man the story. "Where's Father Anderson?"

"He's off today. Was in a rush, he was," the man sighs.

"And you are?"

"Oh. Sorry. My name is Carlyle. Carlyle Ingham."

"It's very nice to meet you. I'm Kit Myrtle," Kit extends his hand and receives a strong shake. "I'd better be going now."

"Sure, sure. God bless." Carlyle waves Kit off and walks back inside, the door's locks clicking loudly. Kit turns from the door and looks at the forest around twenty feet away. With nothing else to do he begins to walk into the snowy forest. Leaving behind him a trail of crying snow.


End file.
